


The Case of Altair and the Office Shenanigans

by iBear



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed 2 (Video Game)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iBear/pseuds/iBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair loves ruthless business buyouts, shady dealings, and public assassinations. He HATES office parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of Altair and the Office Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mjules](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjules/gifts).



Altair hated being the CEO of a security contracting company with a net worth greater than most people’s imaginations. Not because he hated slimy business deals, because he _excelled_ at slimy business deals, especially ones that managed to knock down some of the less principled security corporations.

(Blackwater had been a joke, and Altair had taken great pleasure cutting it up into tiny, little pieces to feed to larger corporations. If the CEO had randomly gone missing in Syria, never to be found, Altair had plausible deniability that he had no idea what had happened to the man. He could, however, reassure anyone that asked that the man was _not coming back_.)

It wasn’t even the obligation to go out and do his own dirty work, because Altair didn’t really have to do that. He just liked having the change in environment, and with modern technology, it wasn’t like he couldn’t do paperwork in the desert.

(Although there had been that one time he had gotten all of his tax forms bloody. The IRS had sent him a stiff, formal, _awkward_ letter asking him if he could please send another copy of his papers, because the blood was a little too thick to read through in some crucial areas.)

The paperwork was another thing that didn’t bother him too much. After all, he had Malik for that, and for all the man yelled and nagged and threatened to sue for sexual harassment, he did his job flawlessly.

Really, Altair actually rather liked his job. He just _hated_ office parties.

“Who decided this would be a good idea?” he asked Malik, trying to maintain his frown in the face of the other man’s Santa hat. “I thought you were Muslim,” he tried again.

“Live a little, Altair. Christmas is no longer a religious holiday, but a capitalist one, and I can’t think of a more appropriate theme for a Fortune 500 company’s holiday party,” Malik replied, the smirk on his face utterly sadistic. “Besides, aren’t you excited for Secret Santa?”

“I shouldn’t even be here,” rebuffed Altair. “No one wants to party with the boss in the room.”

“You say that like your workers actually respect your authority,” Malik shot back just as quickly, and Altair scowled because the other man was right.

“Malik, _bello_ , come dance with me!” a familiar voice called out, and Altair scowled and redirected his gaze over to where Ezio was standing, two girls already tucked under each arm.

“You looked occupied already,” Malik called back, but it wasn’t rebuking. It might even be considered flirtatious, Altair thought with horror, wheeling back to snatch the eggnog out of Malik’s hand. “Hey! What are you doing, you animal?”

“How much alcohol did they put in this?” he asked, taking a sip of the drink. His face contorted in disgust—not nearly enough alcohol to make eggnog appealing. “Are you actually flirting with him?”

“Ezio is a good looking man, Altair,” Malik told him, a smug smirk on his face as if he knew personally just how good looking. Altair inhaled sharply, ready to list all of the reasons why that was not a good enough reason to get involve with the Italian.

(Because it didn’t cancel out Ezio’s womanizing ways or his stupidly colorful clothing or the numerous STDs he no doubt had—)

“But I am getting old. I am no longer interested in playboy assassins,” Malik sighed wistfully, cutting off Altair’s train of thought with all the force of a guillotine falling from the heavens. “I would much rather have a more… stable relationship.”

“That is a hint, _mio mentore_ ,” Ezio whispered, suddenly appearing right behind him, and Altair thought about how a lesser trained assassin would have stabbed Ezio through the eye in surprise.

He briefly considered that the insults against his training might be worth getting a chance to stab Ezio through the eye.

“Ezio, don’t piss off Altair. You know what happened the last office party. Leo, fetch your boyfriend,” Desmond warned, trying to get the head of the R&D department’s attention. Leonardo was brilliant with weapons development, and everything else they would ever need, but he also got a bit hyper-focused at times.

(Leo was also a notoriously bad Secret Santa, giving out very experimental gifts that the DoD wished they could get their hands on, but that average people didn’t want because it would most likely kill them.)

“Yes, Leo. Fetch your boyfriend before I cancel the funding for your jetpack research,” Altair threatened, empty as it was. Jetpacks were simply too cool to cancel funding on. Still, Ezio’s pout showed that it had been a harsh blow below the belt, although the Italian did light up when Leo finally took notice of him.

With Ezio occupied with another dance partner, Altair finally turned back to Malik, who seemed to be grinning at him in a less sadistic manner than usual. It was almost warm, Altair thought, and made him think back to when they were both young and stupid. Not as stupid as Altair had been almost too short a while ago, losing both Kadar and Malik’s arm, but—

“I forgave you for that. You redeemed yourself, and the company is doing well under you,” Malik reminded him, handing him a glass of champagne. “Of course, there are things I am not so happy about.”

“Oh?” Altair asked, trying not to seem unsettled.

“You have changed in some ways, Altair, but not in others,” Malik explained, looking almost ridiculous as he gestured with his red plastic cup, his Santa hat sitting crookedly on his head. “You have developed a sense of responsibility, some humility, and an ability to ask for help…”

“But?” Altair prompted, crossing his arms over his chest to keep himself from fidgeting.

“But you still do not have the balls to ask me out on a date. A man can only allow so many free gropes, Altair, before he must insist on dinner,” Malik told him, and Altair wanted to scowl and threaten and maybe stomp his feet, because Malik sounded as infuriatingly matter-of-fact as he always did. Yet, with his newfound maturity, Altair realized he could see a deeper picture. Obviously, there were betters things to be done.

Altair grabbed Malik roughly by his lapels, ignoring the other’s yelp of protest. “I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow,” he promised.

“It’s Christmas tomorrow. Nothing will be open.”

“I’ll _make_ you dinner tomorrow, just—”

“Make me breakfast too, and it’s a deal,” Malik bartered, and Altair froze before tightening his grip on the other man’s clothes and dragging him off.

Office parties were a terrible waste of time, and Altair hated them. Post-office party happenings, however, were quickly becoming the best part of his job.

(Altair made omelets and waffles the next day, opened his door to get his daily newspaper, and saw both his and Malik’s Secret Santa gifts on the doorstep. Desmond had gotten Malik an exquisite set of fountain pens. Rebecca got him _The New Joy of Gay Sex_ , and it was only the Christmas spirit and Malik’s very flexible body that stopped Altair from firing _everyone_.)


End file.
